Scars of Panem
by framesonthewall
Summary: The games are over, the scars remain. Each of this chapters is an independent story about one of the characters.


Her hand was already shaking when she turned on the faucet and let the water fill the tub in a steady stream. At this point she wasn't even sure if the fear she felt - and which she would deny if asked - was because of the nearness of the water or the looming threat of what she was planning to do. Maybe she should do it another day, there was enough time, no rush. She stared down at the clear fluid, so innocent looking and unbidden the words of the therapist rose up in her memory, almost mocking her.

'You have to face your fears, Johanna. You are safe, Johanna.'

Well, it certainly didn't fucking feel like being safe. She snarled at the water that was slowly rising and filling the tub, clear and rippling, disturbed by the jet.

It wasn't like she didn't know that the chance was small that the water would spontaneously electrify itself, but it was of the Capitol's design so who knew. Johanna squashed down that thought but to no avail. She still felt it hovering at the edge of her awareness, mocking her like the water was mocking her. Anything of the Capitol had the potential of becoming deadly...

Enough of this! These thoughts that only revealed her weakness and made her falter in her plan!

With jerky and rough movements she fumbled with the rope that held her gown closed and yanked it out. She threw the fabric to the floor alongside her gown, kicking both to the side into a little heap against the wall.

Naked, she stood on the cold tiles, goose bumps rose on her skin, and oh how she hated that her body trembled just by being near the water, close enough to touch. Johanna glared down at the offending element.

She wouldn't let Snow win this last round.

Johanna sighed, calming herself, pushing down the familiar rage that was her loyal companion. At least she was alone and no one could see her. With Beetee's help she had disabled each and every bug and camera that still had been in her house. Now she was truly alone; no one there to see her succeed or fail.

When the water had half-filled the tub she cut off the stream and quickly she knelt down. There was no sense in wasting time, her fear wouldn't disappear on its own, at least not if her therapist was to believe. Johanna scoffed at the thought of her therapist, not like he had any experience of his own. He had never been a tribute, he had never mentored them and never been in the tender hands of the Capitol's torturers, so what the fuck did he even know about any of it.

Johanna took a deep breath.

The porcelain was cold against her skin when she braced her forearms on it. Only the best for the victors, she thought. One corner of her mouth lifted in a mirthless smile.

She let one hand slip down to rest on the water's surface. It was warm, unlike the water they had used. Her mind shied away from the memory even though she dreamed of it every night, dreams of being held down in water and electrocuted, intermixing with her games. Sometimes she was the one holding other tributes down and shooting bolts of electricity through their bodies and watching them jerk under her hands.

The water rippled from the shaking of her hands she could not control. She felt sick to her stomach, blood rushing in her ears. But she made herself break the surface, submerging her hand to the wrist.

This was still the easy part.

She closed her eyes and laid her forehead against the porcelain of the tub's rim, letting it cool her skin, a contrast to the water she welcomed. A distraction. After a moment's hesitation she pushed her arm in until she was submerged to her elbow, fingertips resting against the bottom of the tub. Another few inches in and the water lapped at her biceps. Her breath left her in a shuddering rush.

This is ok, she told herself. This is ok. I'm fine. I'm not broken.

Johanna rose and braced both her hands on the sides of the tub and lifted one leg, putting her foot in the water. The warmth felt good but she almost didn't notice. Her senses seemed to narrow down to the wetness around her foot and the gentle sound the water made against the porcelain, the drip-drip-drip of the faucet. It was almost deafening.

The lump in her throat made it hard to swallow, but she did, putting her other foot into the water as well. Another sound penetrated the air but she couldn't focus on it.

Her knees shook and she lowered herself so she wouldn't fall. The water crept up her body to her waist as she sat down. The sound in the air made more sense now, little whimpers from her own throat and she made a low guttural cry in anger. She was not weak and would not let mere water make her so. She wouldn't let Snow win, never, not even in death! Even if it killed her.

Johanna bared her teeth. The words of her therapist crept forward from the back of her mind and she held onto them, clutching them close to her heart and her sanity.

'You're safe, Johanna.'

Snow was dead and so were her torturers. She was far away from the Capitol, she reminded herself. The trembling didn't lessen, she couldn't stop it, but still she lowered herself down further into the water, letting it cover her skin until only her face was still dry. Her ears were submerged and under the surface she could hear the rush of the blood in her ears and the little whimpers that her mouth emitted. With effort she made herself stop. Water lapped at the corners of her eyes and she squeezed them shut, keeping the water out and the tears in.

'You're safe, Johanna.'

She held her breath and pushed herself down the last few inches. Already she knew that it was the wrong thing to do, but it was too late, too late to turn back. The water closed over her mouth, her eyes, her nose. The back of her head touched the ground of the tub. Her world narrowed down, shutting everything out until she could hear and feel nothing but the water. The blood pounded in her ears, she was fully enclosed, surrounded, except where her knees poked out and were chilled by the air. She felt so cold. The water calmed around her, settled until it didn't move at all. Johanna watched bubbles from her mouth rise to the surface, disturbing it.

1… 2… 3…

The scream built in her before she could stop it. Hands held her down and through the roar in her ears she could hear them jeer. Her vision blurry through the water she could see them as they watched her jerk against the restraints as the electricity coursed through the water and into her and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt. Water flooded her mouth and nose and she choked, scrambling at the smooth surface of the porcelain and suddenly she could break free of the water's hold. She could think nothing, focus on nothing. She wasn't safe. They were there. They would come.

There were noises like a panicking animal coming from her own throat, her knees hit the tiles as she coughed and gasped for breath. She wanted to curl up, but the drip-drip-drip was too loud, too close, and no doubt her torturers were close. They would put her back into the water. She moved and her legs wouldn't support her, so she crawled until the tiles changed to wood, changed to soft carpet under her palms and the dripping sound was faint.

Her back found a wall and she wrapped her arms around her knees and shuddered, hiding her face, listening for the sound of footsteps. Her tormentors didn't like her leaving the water before they were done but there was nothing except the hammering of her heart and the clattering of her teeth and the rush in her ears that made her dizzy.

Her breath hitched in her throat and when nothing happened she uncovered her eyes enough to look around. The living room was silent. It was hers. She was alone.

The sun was shining outside, falling in through the spacious windows and stinging in her eyes. There was the trilling of the birds of the forest that surrounded the Victor's Village. Close by stood a loveseat someone had bought for her and for a moment she stared at it, uncomprehending and then she crossed the distance separating them on her hands and knees and pulled her shaking body on top of it. There was a duvet Annie had sent her sometime, she had no idea why because they weren't close, but she was glad for it now, and she wrapped it around her naked, trembling form.

She rested her body against the window sill and looked outside, up at the tall tree that stood there. The wind rustled in the leaves, overshadowing the drip-drip-drip she could still faintly hear from the bathroom. She made herself concentrate on the leaves, on the wood that was her home.

She wished for the little sack with pine needles Katniss had given her, that she loved to bury her nose in, but it was somewhere in her bedroom and she felt too weak to get up just yet. Any way the breeze carried that scent to her.

Tomorrow she would try again.

She wouldn't let Snow win.


End file.
